"Good evening, viewers! The night is officially here, and in just a few moments, the highly anticipated Ariestal City Exhibition will finally open its doors," a male reporter announced confidently, speaking into a microphone emblazoned with a Pelipper logo in front of the massive museum.
"As we all know, an event of this scale is an absolute rarity. Ever since the Alcrypna Incident three years ago, permits for hosting relic-class exhibitions have been heavily restricted. Tonight, we will be sitting down with the museum's director to dissect exactly how they secured the authorization to put the legendary Nexus Sapphire on public display. I'm your host, Elton, and together, we will uncover the story behind this historic night."
Elton flashed his official media Pelipper badge to the security detail at the perimeter, and the guards promptly stepped aside, granting his crew entry into the bustling interior.
Inside, the grand halls were already teeming with other journalists, broadcast rigs, and early VIP guests. One of the camera crews had set up a live feed right in front of a heavily stylized pavilion labeled Dr. Miles Work.
"How are we doing, ladies and gentlemen? Welcome back to The Miracle of Art," the on-air reporter said, gesturing dynamically toward the camera. "We are broadcasting live from the Ariestal City Museum, and I don't even need to tell you how incredibly anticipated this exhibition is!"
He turned slightly, extending his arm toward the centerpiece of the main atrium. There, suspended within a high-security containment warp box, pulsed the brilliant light of the Nexus Sapphire. The artifact was completely surrounded by layers of local police, museum security forces, and specialized tactical agents.
"Aside from displaying the mesmerizing Nexus Sapphire, which you can see heavily guarded right there in the center," the reporter continued, "the museum is also showcasing an array of priceless, world-renowned masterpieces. Right now, we are standing in the dedicated gallery of Dr. Miles—the visionary scientist and researcher who famously balances his academic pursuits with his career as an elite fine artist. I absolutely cannot wait to interview him tonight to discover his creative secrets, his formulas, and what truly drives his artistic soul!"
Suddenly, a sharp chime rang through the reporter's earpiece. It was his floor manager back at the studio network.
"Change of plans," the colleague's voice crackled through the comms. "Dr. Miles is completely locked down in his laboratory with an urgent research breakthrough. He won't be attending the broadcast tonight."
The reporter's jaw dropped. "Are you serious?! How is that possible? We had a firm, ironclad contract for this timeslot!"
"I don't know what to tell you. Apparently, a sudden wave of 'scientific inspiration' hit him, and he refused to leave his lab," the studio assistant replied.
"Great. So what's our backup plan? What do we do now?" the reporter hissed under his breath, trying to keep his composure on the studio floor.
"Don't panic. The executive producer said he already found a verified surrogate to take Miles' place."
"Is it another high-profile artist?"
"Hold on, I'm waiting for the digital portfolio to sync to my terminal right now..." The assistant tapped his keyboard rapidly.
"Okay, data packet received."
"What's the name?" the reporter pressed.
The assistant squinted at the text on his monitor. "Eon."
"Alright. I'll initiate a direct patch to his ID."
The reporter quickly entered the trainer ID from the digital file into his Rotom Dex to send a priority page.
Up on the third floor, oblivious to the media scramble below, Eon and Walt were methodically cross-referencing the gallery's inventory. Eon was marking off a security checklist for each artifact on the floor, while Walt utilized his device to take high-resolution, multi-spectrum reference photographs of every display.
Having completed their sweep of the outer partitions, they both walked up to the floor's absolute centerpiece: the haunting, controversial painting known as Bad Night.
Walt lowered his camera, his eyes scanning the chaotic, jagged strokes of the canvas. "Do you honestly think this piece deserves to be the anchor artwork for an entire floor?"
Eon didn't look up from his digital clipboard. "To be perfectly frank, if it weren't for the viral notoriety surrounding it, it wouldn't even be in a museum. If you ask for my professional assessment, this canvas wasn't engineered to be art at all."
Walt blinked, completely caught off guard. "Not engineered to be art? What is that supposed to mean?"
"You know as well as I do that art is inherently subjective," Eon replied, his voice entirely flat as he finally looked up. "But to me, true art requires a deliberate, conscious intent—a fundamental essence or core truth that the creator is trying to manifest and convey to the observer."
Walt rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling a frustrated breath. "Core truths? Materialized essence? Honestly, Eon, your philosophical explanations are completely baffling."
"Let me simplify it for you, then," Eon countered evenly. "Compare a masterpiece born from genuine intent, immense labor, and technical mastery against a completely lazy, unstructured mess that relies solely on a high-society 'art' label to exist. For example, some people claim a completely blank canvas is high art. But to me, that lacks the essential substance required to be recognized as such."
Walt stared at him, his face a picture of pure shock. *I had no idea this guy possessed such an incredibly deep understanding of aesthetic theory,* he thought to himself.
Turning his attention back to the ominous painting, Walt pointed a finger at the dark, swirling colors. "Alright, fair enough. But why specifically disqualify this piece?"
"To put it simply: the creator was undeniably an Esper who had absolutely zero intention of creating something for human enjoyment," Eon explained, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed the brushwork.
"They deliberately engineered these specific geometric patterns to induce severe physiological discomfort and anxiety in the viewer. Furthermore, the persistent rumors that this painting carries a supernatural curse aren't a coincidence. It's a direct byproduct of residual psychic energy intentionally embedded into the pigment."
Walt gasped, his posture instantly straightening.
"I am entirely certain," Eon continued, "that whoever painted this used it as a passive siphon. It's designed to harvest the ambient supernatural and psychic energy generated by the rumors, the fear, and the raw negative emotions of the crowd. It's a parasitic construct. I can tolerate chaotic, untraditional art—but I refuse to recognize a fraudulent piece that abuses Esper mechanics like a weapon."
"Wait a second... if your hypothesis is correct, then this entire canvas is essentially a functioning battery for supernatural energy!" Walt muttered. He frantically pulled out his tactical notebook and a pen, rapidly transcribing every single detail of Eon's analysis.
Then, a sudden realization struck him. Walt paused, his pen hovering over the paper. "Hold on... you're not an Esper, Eon. How could you possibly detect and analyze psychic-frequency structures with that level of precision?"
Eon turned his gaze toward the lower levels. "You're familiar with Dr. Miles, correct?"
"The world-renowned research scientist and fine artist? Of course," Walt nodded.
"Exactly. He also happens to be a high-tier Esper. I spent a significant amount of time studying under him, analyzing these exact types of anomalies," Eon stated.
"And?" Walt pressed, leaning in closer, his grip tightening around his notebook as he hung on every word.
"Among the various advanced methodologies I learned from him, one of the most critical was the structural analysis of an artwork's energy capacity," Eon explained calmly. "He proved to me that abstract art is highly favored by rogue Espers because it forces the human mind to generate wildly different, chaotic interpretations. That mental friction creates a much higher yield of emotional energy than a standard painting with a singular, clear subject. Like I said, this thing has no artistic meaning. It's just an engine built to manipulate perception."
Before Walt could ask another question, Eon's Rotom Dex broke the silence, automatically projecting a live video feed into the air.
"Who is this?" Eon asked impassively.
The holographic projection displayed a young man with short brown hair and bright blue eyes, sitting in a chaotic broadcast studio while wearing a professional communications headset.
"My apologies for the direct intrusion on your secure line, sir," the man spoke rapidly. "I'm a senior broadcast producer for the network program The Miracle of Art."
"Miracle of Art?" Eon repeated, his expression unreadable. "Why are you targeting my frequency?"
"Our executive production team was just notified that Dr. Miles is unavailable for tonight's live broadcast. He explicitly instructed our studio to patch into your specific ID and designated you as his official replacement for the live segment," the producer explained, sounding exhausted.
Eon let out a long, weary sigh. "Seriously? Why in the world did he nominate me?"
"I don't have the internal details, sir," the producer replied, stammering slightly. "But the network brief states that your command of artistic theory is exceptionally high."
"Be that as it may, it's irrelevant. Find someone else to fill the slot," Eon said, preparing to cut the feed.
Panicking at the prospect of losing his anchor guest, the producer frantically scanned Eon's personnel file on his studio monitor, searching for leverage. *Do I have to literally beg this guy on live television? Or do I scramble for a third backup? Oh, man, this kid is giving me a massive migraine!*
Then, his eyes caught a bold line in the career history section. Eon was formally registered as a primary research collaborator on several of Dr. Miles' most famous expeditions and relic studies.
"Sir, please consider the context!" the producer pleaded, his tone shifting to one of absolute urgency. "According to our official museum documentation, you are listed as the primary co-creator and field collaborator for the entire *Dr. Miles' Work* collection currently on display!"
Eon paused, his eyes narrowing as a realization hit him. *Miles... you absolute fool. You forgot to scrub my operational codename from the exhibition's public credits. If this broadcast company starts digging into those files on air, our entire operational security is compromised. I have no choice.*
"Fine. That information is accurate. I was a collaborator on those projects," Eon stated aloud.
The producer's face instantly flooded with relief, a bright smile breaking across his features. "Fantastic! In that case, I formally request your immediate presence at the main stage on the first floor—specifically within the *Dr. Miles' Work* pavilion—to serve as our expert guest for the live broadcast."
"I understand. I'm on my way down," Eon replied flatly.
The Rotom Dex severed the connection, the hologram blinking out of existence. Eon immediately turned and began walking toward the grand staircase, pocketing his clipboard.
"Oh, by the way, Walt," Eon called out over his shoulder as he descended. "While I'm handling this broadcast, please initiate the secondary backup security protocols. You're fully certified in runic deployment techniques, right?"
Walt froze, his eyes widening in utter panic. "Wait—what?! Are you insane? I'm a data analyst, I can't just casually construct high-grade—"
"Great. I'll leave the third floor to you," Eon interrupted seamlessly, his figure vanishing down the stairwell.
Walt stood completely alone in front of the ominous painting, staring at the empty hallway before violently slapping his hand against his forehead.
"Damn it, Eon!"